


Into You

by reillyblack



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Universe, Casual Sex, Certain people are still alive because no, From Sex to Love, Knotting, Light Angst, M/M, No underage, Pack Dynamics, Pining, Stiles is bad at feelings, Werewolf Culture, but things are different after season 2, derek is bad at communicating, hint at adderall abuse, is a better description, lots of porny things, maybe like, the usual, weird ones let me tell you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-26
Updated: 2016-05-28
Packaged: 2018-07-10 07:36:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6973402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reillyblack/pseuds/reillyblack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You know that girl I met at the pack mixer Derek dragged us to last week? Cindy? Yeah, she says that in her pack, and in a lot of packs, they have... like..."</p><p>"I don't think it's true. I think she was pulling your leg, man," Scott interrupts, looking a little guilty.  </p><p>"Have a what?" Stiles presses with exasperation. "Should we have it too?"</p><p>"Oh, dude," Isaac dissolves into laughter again. Stiles flicks him on the nose this time and is met with a growl and a flash of yellow. "Ok, ok... the alphas have, like, one pack member that they... you know." </p><p>"Can we all be big boys about this?" Stiles rolls his eyes. "That they... what?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Stiles first hears about it in the library, when Isaac and Scott are whispering and giggling and pointedly not studying for their last finals in two weeks. Which, it's not like they needed to graduate anyway what with the superpowers that could translate to pretty lucrative careers minus all the book learning Stiles has resigned himself to, but it's still annoying. 

"Can you at least pretend to study when I'm over here cramming?" Stiles grumbles, re-highlighting the same sentence and blinking at the page. He's itching for some Adderall, but Scott gave him accusatory looks last week when he somehow knew Stiles took more than his prescription. He resists the temptation. 

Scott and Isaac are grinning from ear to ear and looking like a pair of freshman girls with a secret. Stiles's brain is done with AP chem anyway. He closes the heavy textbook decisively. 

"What?" Stiles asks, looking between them slowly. 

"It's pack stuff," Isaac whispers needlessly. Stiles looks around, but no one's even close to within range of hearing. They're huddled in a corner of the library that's set apart from the other study areas.

"Ok," Stiles drawls, pointedly looking around them.

Scott covers his mouth and laughs, which sends Isaac into a fit of laughter. Stiles waits not so patiently for them to grow up and quiet down. 

"Dude, just get closer, ok? It's... it's not something you want other people to overhear."

"Jesus," Stiles mumbles as he leans over the table, too curious now to resist.

Isaac leans in too, conspiratorially, and Scott follows on his elbows to join them huddled in the middle of the table.

"You know that girl I met at the pack mixer Derek dragged us to last week? Cindy? Yeah, she says that in her pack, and in a lot of packs, they have... like..."

"I don't think it's true. I think she was pulling your leg, man," Scott interrupts, looking a little guilty. He should, the gossip queen.

"Have a what?" Stiles presses with exasperation. "Should we have it too?"

"Oh, dude," Isaac dissolves into laughter again. Stiles flicks him in the nose this time, which is met with growl and a flash of yellow. "Ok, ok... the alphas have, like, one pack member... sometimes two... that they... you know." 

"Can we all be big boys about this?" Stiles rolls his eyes. "That they... _what_?"

"They have a sex-with-no-strings kind of thing going on with one or two pack mates. She made it sound like no big deal, like standard practice. It's supposedly a normal part of pack dynamic," Scott clarifies quickly. Stiles watches his ears turn red while he talks and Stiles knows immediately that they were laughing partly out of embarrassment, thinking about who would fill that role in their own pack. 

"That sounds..." Stiles wants to protest that it seems like an abuse of power, but then he starts to think about what that would like in their own pack too. Stiles first considers who Isaac and Scott might assume would fill that role, then how it's probably not who Stiles would like. 

A pleasant burn starts in Stiles's stomach that creeps down his spine to his groin. 

"It doesn't matter anyway because Derek's never brought it up or tried to... has he?" Scott starts to dismiss the idea before tilting to check with Isaac. Isaac shakes his head, sobering a little. 

"Does that even sound like something Derek would ask for?" Isaac points out. Scott frowns and shrugs. Over the years he's come around to Derek as the alpha and the the wolf with most experience. He's settled as much as could be expected into following Derek's lead, which means he still actively rebels once a month. Derek seems to take it in stride now, though, like it's just part of their routine. Stiles thinks their relationship is greatly improved.

"Hey, Derek wanted us to learn about other packs. That's what he said when he forced us to go to that mixer," Scott points out. Isaac's laughing quietly again. 

Stiles's stomach is still tingling, his mind calmer than usual. 

 

* * *

  

Derek's looking at him like he just asked if he could, like, touch his hair or drive his car or some equally insane suggestion way above the level of insanity of Stiles's actual suggestion (in Stiles's opinion). 

"Where the hell did you..." Derek starts, his eyes narrowing. Stiles knows he's listening to his heartbeat. 

"It's because we were too young, isn't it? You started a pack with a bunch of teenagers. You couldn't." 

Derek's quiet in a way that tells him he's right. Stiles licks his lips, his eyes traveling over Derek's face without his permission. 

"It has to be freely given, I can't ask for it," Derek says after another moment of silence. "It's not like a... _right_." He sounds stiff in that way that's uniquely Derek.

Derek leans back on his sleek couch, his arms folding over his chest. Stiles sets his backpack down on the floor next to the kitchen counter. The loft is filled with soft light at this time of the day. It makes its sharp planes look a little more welcoming than usual. 

"Well, it's an option," Stiles shrugs, going for casual. His heartbeat might say otherwise. Derek tilts his head, his eyes still narrowed as he studies Stiles. 

 

* * *

  

Stiles can see the inside of his jeans from the way they're lumped on the floor, crinkled and folded at odd angles. He squeezes his eyes closed to another grunt from Derek as a hand cards up his chest to hold securely to his collarbone, fingers warm as they spread over his skin. 

Stiles lets a moan slip as Derek rocks into him again; he loses his grip on the couch arm and stumbles onto one elbow to absorb the thrust. He can feel Derek's forehead press into the middle of his shoulders and he closes his eyes again to savor the sensation, trying to memorize the sound of Derek in pleasure. 

The thing is, Stiles has waited years. He's watched, and wanted, and cried into his pillow at night as he stroked himself to the memory of Derek's voice when it reaches that low, commanding timbre. He can't believe he's getting this, and he's not about to fuck it up. 

Stiles knows what to expect, he's heard about it from Scott and Isaac and even Lydia at one point, but the sensation of it is another thing entirely from the descriptions. His breath catches as he feels the pressure in his ass, feels Derek tighten up behind him, the lines of muscle rigid against Stiles's sweat-slicked back. 

Derek's teeth close over the edge of Stiles's ear as he shudders and presses tight against Stiles's ass, as deep as he can get. Stiles's dick throbs almost painfully as the conflicting feelings of _full_ and _tight_ and _too much_ wrack his body, but it's done and Derek's hand is locked onto Stiles's hip like he couldn't move even if Stiles begged for it. Stiles has no choice but to ride through the escalating pressure and wait for Derek's tense shivers to subside. 

Derek rewards his patience by pulling him back onto his lap, curling one arm securely around Stiles's waist and running another hand gently through the small thick of hair on Stiles's chest. Derek's breath is heavy against his neck, the sounds of his exertion music in Stiles's ears.

Stiles relaxes into Derek's embrace, still in awe that he can get this, that he feels like it's Derek's way of silently praising him for taking his first knot so well. 

Eventually Derek's warm breath on his neck moves into soft kisses at the most sensitive stretch of skin and the hand on his chest trails down to stroke Stiles's length. Stiles shivers in Derek's tight grip, very aware that he's still speared on Derek's cock, can still feel it pulsing at his rim.

Derek doesn't make it easy on him, stroking him slowly, unhurriedly, until Stiles is close to crying for release. Then he tips Stiles over the brink. He licks the come off his hand, his cheek pressed to Stiles's jaw, close enough that Stiles can smell himself.

Stiles doesn't tell him it's his first time. He doesn't think he needs to.  

 


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles hadn't thought much beyond the sparkling possibility of sex with Derek on the drive from the library to Derek's apartment. They lie on the couch in quiet, and Derek pulls a blanket from somewhere to cover Stiles when he starts to shiver. They're still tied together. Stiles is suddenly desperately afraid of what comes next.

Derek must hear the spike in his heartbeat because he starts playing idly with the edges of Stiles's ribcage, tracing a bone here and a muscle there. The casual contact calms Stiles considerably. Derek shifts and presses closer, his breath tickling the back of Stiles's neck, just at his hairline.

It's nice for a few minutes, calm rather than awkward. Stiles's eyes even start to drift closed by the time Derek shifts again and slips out of Stiles. Stiles gasps a little at the sudden emptiness, and Derek almost immediately pushes fingers back inside. Stiles grunts his thanks as Derek massages his rim a little, soothing the stretch. 

"I'll get you a washrag. There's a lot of cleanup."

"Somehow I'm not surprised," Stiles manages. It's the first coherent thing they've said to each other since Stiles crawled between Derek's legs and swallowed him down.

Derek nuzzles briefly at the meeting of his ear and neck before he pushes to a stand and walks, naked and glorious, into the bathroom. Stiles stays still because he can already feel Derek's come leaking from him. He doesn't want to make an even bigger mess trying to sit up.

Derek returns with a slight smile and wipes Stiles down until he's satisfied. "I think you're safe now." Derek surveys him, one hand resting casually on Stiles's hip. Stiles blinks up at him, wondering briefly what he's "safe" to do.

"Ok," he says, feeling kind of numb, and searches for his underwear. He finds them a few feet from his pants, his shirt on the other side of the couch. Stiles hadn't realized how messy they'd been in discarding clothes. 

Derek is dressed in jeans and busying himself with something in the kitchen when Stiles finishes getting dressed. Stiles is about to announce that he should probably head home when Derek calls, "You want some dinner?" and Stiles absolutely isn't going to say no to that. 

Stiles wonders, briefly, if Derek will ever kiss him.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Derek never calls him at a dark hour of the night for anything other than official pack business. He never invites Stiles over to his apartment. He doesn't treat Stiles any differently than before at pack meetings.

Scott, on the other hand, wrinkles his nose at Stiles, sniffs him rudely, and tells Stiles to stay out of Derek's bathroom, he smells weird. Stiles tries not to be offended that Scott skipped over so many other possibilities to arrive first at the idea that Stiles has been, like, exposed to Derek's fluids via his bathroom. Ew. Also, Scott's an idiot. Also, is that really what Derek's bathroom smells like to werewolves?

Stiles starts driving by himself to pack meetings and insisting that Scott catch a ride with someone else after meetings conclude. He finds excuses to hover around until everyone else is gone. Then Derek fills him a glass of water while Stiles heads back to Derek's bed. Stiles always finds the glass of water very thoughtful when he's lying boneless and thirsty afterward, too tired to move more than lifting his arm to the nightstand. 

Derek tells Stiles that they don't have to knot every time, but Stiles tells him he likes it. Stiles doesn't tell him that the reason he likes it is because he gets to lie next to Derek, with Derek's hands gentle and familiar over his skin, and pretend this is all very intimate.

Stiles doesn't say a lot. Derek starts to notice. 

"I thought you'd be... noisier," Derek tells him three weeks after they started, pressed tight against Stiles's back, his breath evening out into a more gentle rhythm. Stiles snorts like he doesn't know exactly what Derek's trying to say. 

"I'm plenty loud."

"I meant _talkative_."

Stiles snorts again like he thinks it's funny. It's not funny; it's a problem. Stiles is always afraid something drastic will come out if he lets his mouth go during sex, something like how he never, ever wants Derek to stop; how he loves every part of Derek; how he thinks about this all the time and can't wait for pack meetings anymore. 

So Stiles is quiet, almost as quiet as Derek, who somehow seems to talk even less when they're alone together. Stiles has never made a habit of silence, but he desperately wants this. He’s certain that if he releases his dammed-up Derek-related thoughts, Derek will cut off all sexual contact and probably try to, like, counsel him or steer him in another direction or some other bullshit that Stiles is not about to put up with. 

Stiles starts to realize after about the fourth or fifth time that maybe Derek's put the ball entirely in his metaphorical court. Well, it's either that or Stiles is so bad at sex that Derek doesn't want any more than what Stiles offers him, which Stiles is choosing to not consider a viable option. Stiles considers that the whole "given freely" philosophy might be a lot stricter on Derek's part than Stiles counted on, and comes to the conclusion that Derek simply won't initiate sex with him -- it has to be Stiles, every time. Which, frankly, puts a lot of telepathic responsibility on him to know when he should do that. It's apparently up to Stiles to pay attention to when Derek needs and wants sex and then offer it at the right moment. 

Which, Stiles thinks, doesn't have to be _just_ on pack nights. Maybe it's up to Stiles to decide that Derek needs sex on, say, a Friday night that he would usually spend moping by himself. (Which, honestly, he probably does). 

As Stiles knocks on Derek's door at 6 PM on a Friday night, he thinks about how much room Derek's "no asking" policy allows for Stiles to back out at any time, for whatever reason, with no expected pressure or explanation. Stiles swallows down a lump at the thought.

Derek answers on the third knock. His damp hair tells of a recent shower and he's lounging in sweatpants and a tank top. Stiles can't help but peek around his shoulder at the loft just to make sure he is, indeed, moping by himself.

"Something wrong?" Derek asks, those magnificent eyebrows twisting in concern. He steps aside to let Stiles pass through.

"Just thought I would drop by."

"On a Friday night?" Derek asks skeptically, returning to a small pile of dishes in the sink and turning on the facet. 

"I didn't have any other offers." Stiles shrugs, then freezes because shit, mistake. That's a lie, and a blatant one; Scott very adamantly wanted to hang tonight. Derek cocks an eyebrow at him to let Stiles know that he didn't miss it. 

"Nothing I really wanted to do, anyway," Stiles clarifies with some thought, making it not a lie by adding _more than I wanted to see you_ in his head afterward. He feels a little guilty for saying he doesn't want to hang out with Scott and makes a mental note to buy Scott a cookie or something in apology. Derek turns off the facet and turns to stare at Stiles, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms. 

"Something's wrong. What is it?"

And this was so _not_ why Stiles showed up, but without the familiarity of the pack meeting set-up Stiles doesn't know how to steer this in the right direction.

"Stiles," Derek says gently. It’s a low tone that started when Derek really settled into his role as alpha and took a more mature, consultant attitude toward the pack. Stiles secretly thought he was born for that role. Stiles calls it his "you can tell me, I'm your alpha" voice in his head.  

"Can we talk about..." Stiles starts then stops. Definitely not why he came over here. Definitely a bad idea.

Derek sits up straighter like he understands what Stiles isn't saying and nods at the couch, wiping his still-wet hands on a dishtowel. 

Stiles sits on the couch, his palms starting to sweat. Derek leaves a whole person's worth of space between them. He turns to focus his undivided attention on Stiles. 

"Go ahead." Derek nods. 

Stiles fidgets because Derek's obviously not going to let him walk out of this conversation. 

"I just had some questions... about what we've been doing," Stiles figures he'll just jump in the deep end of the pool. 

Derek's face goes more carefully neutral. Stiles hates him a little bit for it. He wants more than anything to get an unfiltered opinion from Derek on this subject, but again, Derek seems to be taking that "no asking" policy very seriously in all aspects of their not-relationship. 

"Sure. What do you want to ask?" Derek settles a little more into the couch and moves his hands to rest on his thighs. 

"If this is a normal role in the pack, which it sounds like it is, are there things that I should know?" Stiles starts, because it's one of the least controversial questions Stiles has considered. 

"I don't want you to think 'normal' means 'necessary'," Derek says after a pause. "I was fine before and I'll be fine if you want to stop." 

"No, yeah, I got that. Loud and clear, actually," Stiles says, doing his best to keep his bitterness out of his voice. "But are there other things I should know? Like, do we need to clue the pack in?"

Derek considers him. "Do you want to tell them?"

"No," Stiles says quickly, thinking about Isaac and Scott's immature giggling. 

"Then, no, we don't need to." 

"Ok, well, how about a name? Is there a name for... this?" 

Derek shifts on the couch, his eyes darting briefly away from Stiles's. 

"I've heard it called 'comforting'."

"So I'm a 'comforter'? Jesus, that sounds like... well, bedding," Stiles says, his mouth quirking in a half-smile. Derek meets his half-smile with one of his own. "Which is kind of appropriate, I guess."

"Stupid name," Derek agrees.

"Why is it so normal?" Stiles wonders aloud. "Is there some supernatural or werewolf-y reason that alphas get... _comforted_? Higher sex drive? Or is it a power thing?"

Derek breathes out slowly. Stiles suspects he might have offended him and Derek's trying not to show it. 

   
"We have sex for the same reasons as humans; comforting is just another way of showing affection inside pack. I've heard... well, from what little I've heard of werewolf history, alphas used to have claim to fathering children within the pack, meaning only alphas could impregnate the beta females. That died off hundreds of years ago, though, and since then comforting's shifted into more of a way to de-stress and build pack bonds. There's a common belief that alpha's carry more of the stress for the pack, so comforting is a way of alleviating that." 

"So, werewolf packs are just more sexual in general with the alpha." Stiles tries his best to ignore the whole creepy impregnating history. There's plenty of creepiness in human history too, he reminds himself.  

"Not everyone," Derek clarifies. "Just the comforter." 

"Ok." Stiles breathes a small sigh of relief. He doesn't feel like sharing Derek with anyone else. Which brings him to his next burning question. 

"Some packs have two comforters, though," Stiles says, letting his tone hang in a question. Derek frowns. 

"I'm not sleeping with anyone else." It's blunt and Stiles appreciates it. A lot.  

"But you can, right? Because we're not, like, exclusive. Or anything." Stiles stumbles on the words because he's nearing dangerous territory that he really shouldn't play around with. Derek nods slowly. 

"And so can you. We should stop if you get into a relationship though, so I hope you'll let me know if that happens," Derek looks at his hands on his thighs. His tone is even, unbiased, like he's reporting the weather. Stiles feels like the back of his neck is on fire. 

"Not likely," Stiles swallows. "You're in the clear." 

Derek kind of rolls his eyes before he says, "Stiles, give yourself more credit." He looks like he's about to get up, change the subject or go back to his dishes, so Stiles blurts out -- 

"You can say no to me, though, right? You're not... like... _obligated_ to--" 

"No," Derek interrupts him, frowning. "I can say no, just like you can." 

"Ok." 

"Ok." 

There's a moment where Derek just frowns at him.

"And you should tell me, too," Stiles says, his voice a little weaker than he'd like. "If you get into a relationship or something. You should let me know." 

"I will," Derek smiles, a small reassuring smile. Stiles would cherish it if his stomach weren't rolling. 

"So. Speaking of," Stiles forces some cheer into his voice. "I sure could use some _comforting_ tonight, let me tell you." 

Derek looks a little taken aback, but he visibly relaxes. They know how to do this part: the not talking. They're good at this part, very good. 

"Just give me a second to wrap up," Derek smiles at him again. This smile looks more like it reaches his eyes. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

It's a little harder for Stiles to come than usual. Maybe a lot harder.

Derek's pumping into him, looking better than Stiles's fantasies the way he's holding Stiles's knees up and away from the confident, smooth roll of his hips. Stiles is just trying to hold onto the sheets and take it. Derek's doing all the right things, all the things That usually get Stiles off -- like stroking Stiles in rhythm with his thrusts, biting Stiles's lower lip, and squeezing Stiles's ass just hard enough that it's a little painful. Stiles still isn't even close to coming.

Derek drops down to his elbows, moving Stiles up a little more on the surprisingly soft bed with each thrust, and nuzzles into Stiles's neck. 

"I'm going to..." Derek says softly, his voice almost a moan. At this point , Stiles usually would have been on his second or even third orgasm. 

Stiles nods and grips the back of Derek's neck, readying himself for Derek's knot by letting his legs go relaxed and tilting his ass for the best angle. 

Derek bites his neck lightly as he yanks Stiles's knees up and presses tight against Stiles's ass. Stiles feels the pressure, the throbbing under his rim, the way Derek hisses through his teeth against Stiles's throat. 

Derek shakes in his arms for a few precious moments before slowly loosening into Stiles's waiting embrace. Stiles surreptitiously tucks his chin so he can smell Derek's hair, closing his eyes and trying to picture what Derek smells like -- maybe a sunny meadow or a little creek in the woods, definitely somewhere outside and clean. There's just a hint of Treseme, if Stiles isn't mistaken.

Stiles doesn't realize that Derek is too still in his arms until Derek's pulling away, an unreadable look in his eyes. Of course werewolves can tell when someone sniffs them right up close like that.  

"You ok?" Derek says, his voice cracking a little. He licks his lips, studying Stiles carefully. 

"Yeah. I just. Did you switch shampoos?" Stiles wonders, hoping his rabbit heart will chill the fuck out. 

"No," Derek frowns. 

"Oh," Too bad they're tied together for the next ten or fifteen minutes. Stiles would like nothing more than to roll away and make an excuse about having to be somewhere right at that second. 

"You're not as sensitive tonight," Derek notes, looking down at Stiles's now soft erection.

"I jerked off a lot today, I don't need to come," Stiles says the first excuse that comes to him. Derek's expression shifts into something even more complex and, jesus, Stiles has _got_ to learn his lesson about lying to fucking werewolves. Derek's mouth parts like he's going to finally call Stiles out on all his lies, but then he just shakes his head a little and collapses back against Stiles's chest. 

"Whatever."

It sounds tired, resigned, and Stiles hates that sound in Derek's voice, especially when it's directed at him. "Sorry," Stiles whispers. It's definitely not a lie. Derek shifts in his arms, his stubble rubbing against Stiles's shoulder. 

Stiles has a new word dammed up behind his mouth now, and it's not one he wants to get caught lying about. It's not a word he has a right to think, or feel, but he's not entirely sure how to get rid of it.

  

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a thanks for all the initial interest, I posted this chapter a little ahead of schedule. I've got finals next week though, so I doubt I'll be able to post before that. 
> 
> Also, this short story is a warm-up for my Sterek Big Bang, which is going to be a whole lot more of pining Stiles and oblivious Derek. If anyone's up for simple beta'ing, grammar and spelling and whatnot, I'm in the market for a beta for that story. It'll probably end up at 40-50k, so be aware of that if you're interested. 
> 
> Thanks again for reading :)


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles tries on another coat, huffs in disgust, and tosses it in the "no" pile. He has a hickey for the first time in his life. It's a very noticeable one, high up on his neck. _Nothing covers it._  Even Scott, who's apparently convinced himself that Stiles rolls around in Derek's bathroom on a weekly basis, won't miss it. He could probably shun any and all company for a few days if he can't figure out how to cover it. It would be the exact opposite of a sexile: a sex quarantine. 

Stiles groans and rubs at his neck. He definitely enjoyed the process of getting it -- the memory of Derek fucking him on his kitchen counter is totally worth it -- but somehow when they talked about the negative consequences of sex in P.E. they skipped over embarrassing hickeys and how to disguise them and went straight to the pregnancy part that Stiles doesn't even have to worry about for this situation. 

Which is how he finds himself in a 24-hour CVS late at night, perusing the makeup section and trying to look inconspicuous. He's got his shirt collar popped like a douche. He's wearing sunglasses because that's what people wear when they don't want to be recognized, right? 

Not correct. 

"Stiles, why the hell are you wearing sunglasses at night?" Of course, Lydia Martin happens to be in this exact CVS at this exact moment in improbable time to witness his embarrassing makeup purchase efforts. 

"What are _you_ doing here? This doesn't seem like the kind of store you frequent at... 11 at night. On a Wednesday." Stiles checks his phone, redirecting the conversation out of desperation for how much he does not want to answer that question. 

Lydia holds up a box of tampons and an accompanying case of Midol.

"Emergency situation. Don't avoid. Why are you dressed like that? You look like a frat boy, and not the good kind -- the kind you avoid at all costs." 

Stiles looks around the ridiculously gendered section at all the heavily photoshopped pictures of beautiful women and lips and eyebrows and wonders how he's going to get out of this one. Lydia's practically a werewolf when it comes to detecting lies. 

"Uh... I'm very hungover, thus the sunglasses. The lights, you know," Stiles tries. "And the collar... and the _makeup_... I may have made out with a very suction-y person who left a lasting impression. At a party. Obviously. Thus the hangover." Stiles figures a lie that's close to the truth is his best bet.

Lydia's lips form a small "o" but her eyes tell Stiles she's still analyzing, not quite buying what he's selling. 

"Help a guy out?" Stiles asks helplessly. "How the hell do I tell what my shade is?" 

"You're almost as pale as me," Lydia flicks her eyes over him once before she pulls a compact from the wall of overwhelming choices almost without looking. "This will probably work." 

"Thanks. Maybe we can keep this between us?" Stiles looks down at the compact in his hand pointedly. 

"Sure. As long as you tell me who gave you that hickey." Lydia tilts her head to the side, her lips curling up in the smug satisfaction of solving a puzzle. "I would know about any parties this week."

"Hard pass." Stiles shakes his head firmly. "Tell whoever. I abandoned all shame long ago. You are beautiful and magnificent as usual, even in the throes of your lady time --" Lydia cocks an eyebrow at him, " -- I mean, _especially_ in the throes of your lady time, but still no. Thank you for the help." 

Stiles scrams before anyone else in the pack decides to randomly and improbably show up and interrogate him over his makeup purchases.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles picks up his summer job at the front desk of the police station again and counts the hours. Everything's too hot and kind of sticky and almost exactly the same as all other summers. He wishes that graduating high school at the top of his class (for whatever that's worth in Beacon Hills, Stiles still isn't certain) felt like a bigger deal. As it is, he's whiling away the summer with nothing really different to look forward to -- more school with a slight change of scenery and a bigger price tag attached to it in a few months, and then, most likely, more school after that. 

Well, the same except for the part where he gets to have occasional and amazing sex with someone he's pretty sure he's in love with, and with whom he also, coincidentally, has no future or even a glimmer of hope of a future. That part's less "fun in the sun" and more "Shakespearean tragedy", especially given the high death rate of werewolf-affiliated teenagers in Beacon Hills.

Stiles isn't super optimistic about the whole situation.

It's another too-hot day and Stiles is sitting on Derek's lap in his air-conditioned apartment holding both their cocks together as he thrusts into his palm, completely enraptured with Derek's almost-but-not-quite-orgasming face. Derek suddenly sits up and loops his arms around Stiles's shoulders, leaning his forehead against Stiles's sweaty skin. Stiles slows his pace to better enjoy Derek's surprise cuddling, bringing a tentative hand up to Derek's back too. 

"I want you to come," Derek breathes against his skin. "Tell me how I do that." 

Derek is oh-my-god-hot, obviously, and Stiles appreciates that, especially given their recent activities. The problem is that Derek signed up for just sex and Stiles, well, Stiles sort of wants to adopt a small army of children with him, but he's too addicted to this to stop torturing himself. The guilt and self-hatred is a little much to deal with when he's trying to get off, and now Derek thinks that _he's_ the reason for Stiles's performance problems. 

"I'm just embarrassed," Stiles offers. Embarrassed can be a euphemism for self-loathing, right? He studies the wall behind Derek's bed, searching for imperfections and finding none. 

"You weren't before," Derek argues, crowding closer to Stiles and carding a hand through his hair. The movement presses their cocks between their stomachs and Stiles can feel Derek's summer-slicked skin at too many points on his own body to be able to think clearly. "What changed? I want you to enjoy this." 

The  _or else we should stop_ is implicit in that statement and Stiles panics. Really panics. Because he can't just _stop doing this_. 

"Can you..." Stiles wets his lips, picking through all the things he's blocked himself from saying and looking for something, anything, that doesn't sound completely pathetic and needy. There's not a lot of options. "Can you call me something?" 

Derek leans back a little, his hand stroking over Stiles's back. "Like what?" 

"Like, baby or something," Stiles mumbles, looking up at the ceiling and hating himself some more. 

"Baby?" 

"... off the top of my head." 

"You want me to call you 'baby'?" Derek clarifies slowly. His hands move from Stiles's shoulders to his lower back. "That will help you to..." 

Stiles tucks his head into Derek's shoulder, breathing in his comforting smell and hoping his ears aren't turning red. He can't bear to see Derek's expression. 

"Yeah, you know, they say it in porn all the time. It's hot," Stiles bluffs. It's not the right reason, but it's not exactly a lie — he does think it's hot in porn.

Derek tugs his ass until their cocks slide together, nips at Stiles's ear, and whispers, "Come for me, baby." It goes straight down Stiles's spine to his dick. A warm feeling spreads treacherously through him.  

Stiles does.

 

 

* * *

 

 

There's a high-pitched humming in Stiles's ears and a hole opening somewhere in Stiles's chest.

"Seriously? An arranged marriage? People still do that? _Werewolves_ do that?" Scott's jaw is almost on the floor.

"That's how _my parents_ met each other," Derek replies with mild annoyance, his elbows on his knees as he leans in to speak to the pack. Two partially eaten pizzas are sprawled in the middle of the pack circle but Stiles can't even think about eating anymore. He's pretty sure the hole has spread to hollow out his stomach too. "I talked to a matchmaker at the mixer we went to a while ago, and she just got back to me with someone in mind. It's not so unusual, even in modern times. Of course love matches happen more often, but I'm fine with this. I don't think I'll find a love match anytime soon and with some people leaving for college in a few months we could use the extra stability." 

"A matchmaker? Jesus, Derek, haven't you heard of Tinder? Or OkCupid?" Erica scoffs.

 _I don't think I'll find a love match_  echoes in the void that used to be Stiles's insides and Stiles can't move, can barely breathe. He has to, though, has to push through it because Lydia's looking at him and she's too goddamn smart.

Stiles looks away and then looks back and that's it, that's all she needs to put the final pieces together. Just as her expression settles into somber shock Stiles stands and pulls his phone from his pocket.

"Forgot I have to meet my dad tonight." Stiles hopes his voice sounds semi-normal because he's still crumbling inside. "I gotta run. Raincheck on the pizza." 

He makes his feet move normally, the buzzing in his ears drowning out the pack's protests. He closes the door quietly behind him and then takes the stairs agonizingly slowly until the final staircase where he starts to run.

He runs to his jeep and fumbles with his keys. There's something building in his throat and a stinging in his eyes and _stupid fucking werewolf super hearing_ he has to get out of here  _now._

Stiles finally gets his door open and then slams it shut with too much force. He sits there and tries to breathe for a few moments, get himself under control so he can drive the speed limit back to his house. Then. Then he can think about what Derek just said.

Stiles closes his eyes and breathes.

Someone knocks on the window.

_No._

He opens his eyes and almost shudders with relief when he sees strawberry-blond hair. He rolls the window down. 

"Oh, Stiles." Lydia's lips press tightly together as she leans into the window. "What did you do to yourself?" 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Turns out editing this was a surprisingly good study break. No telling when the next/last chapter will be out I guess lol, but it's still possible it'll be after finals. 
> 
> Also, I found a beta! Thanks all.
> 
> (Yes, I have been listening to Ariana Grande's new album on repeat... why do you ask)


	4. Chapter 4

Stiles stares at his phone for a few seconds because Derek doesn't call; he texts. Exclusively. 

"Hey," Stiles answers. He can sound normal over the phone and not like he's spent an embarrassing amount of time crying tonight. He cries maybe a couple of times a year, and tonight definitely made that list. It'll probably make a few other terrible, terrible lists too. 

"Hey, can you come over?" Derek sounds stressed, worried about something. What's left of Stiles's heart tugs and then crumbles the rest of the way.

"Sure," Stiles sighs. "Now? Sounds important."

"I think that would be best."

Stiles is certain that Derek needs him for something pack-related because Derek doesn't contact him for anything else. Stiles doesn't even think to prepare himself for what's actually waiting in Derek's apartment; namely, Derek with an overly concerned expression and eyes that rove all over him, taking in too many details that Stiles definitely wasn't counting on him paying attention to. Stiles is suddenly terribly conscious of all the physical signs that he's been crying more than a little bit tonight. 

"Lydia told me we needed to talk," Derek says softly while Stiles stands just inside the door and considers escaping back through it. He can't believe that Lydia betrayed him to such a degree. 

"We don't," Stiles says firmly. "I understand. We already established the rules. You're starting a relationship, so we're done." 

"Stiles." There's so much packed into the way Derek says his name. Stiles stiffens at the sound of it all. To his horror, that same feeling from before, the one where something's stuck in his throat and trying to claw its way out, returns. 

"Derek, please." Stiles tries to force it all down. He's not about to have a break down here -- not in front of Derek. Of all the things that could make this conversation somehow worse, that's at the top. "I get it."

"I didn't know," Derek says, and he's suddenly everywhere, wrapped around Stiles, his head tucked against Stiles's hair, his nose pressed to Stiles's scalp. "I'm sorry." 

Stiles is filled with humiliation and anger and sadness all at once. He wants to push Derek away and call him an idiot because that's what he is if he didn't figure out all of Stiles's terrible lying. He also can't imagine this being the last time Derek holds him like this and needs to drink up every second he's allowed. He ends up balling his fists against Derek's chest, frozen with indecision and breaking down even more with Derek's body heat to catalyze the process. Derek smells like clean outside.

"You were leaving," Derek says into his hair. Stiles squeezes his eyes shut and presses closer to Derek despite himself. "I didn't want to hold you back." 

"So you decided to get _married_?" It comes out more of a sob. His fists make up his mind for him and grab at Derek's t-shirt. _"You fucking drama queen."_

Derek laughs and it tickles Stiles's scalp. 

"I can cancel with the matchmaker."

Stiles really starts crying at that. Derek holds him tighter. 

"Do you want me to call you baby again?"

Derek's shirt is wet now as Stiles buries into it.

"Yes."

"Don't worry, baby," Derek soothes. "We'll work it out." 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles gets his own _drawer._  Also a toothbrush for when he stays over because he's allowed to actually do that now. Turns out Derek doesn't use Treseme shampoo, but some pretentious, organic green tea abomination that smells like heaven when Stiles steals it for his own showering purposes. 

"Dating" is a fun word to say to Scott and watch his eyes bug out of his head. 

One of the best parts of their new relationship is that Stiles gets priority seating next to Derek during pack meetings. Derek is a _toucher_. Stiles bathes in the sea of grossed-out expressions as Derek goes over strategies, updates, and team-building whatevers (Stiles is definitely paying attention to what he's saying) all while gently stroking the inside of Stiles's thigh or the small of his back. Stiles mostly just enjoys that he's not moping in shame anymore and that he can look at Derek adoringly and Derek will look back.

Kissing Derek is definitely a highlight. He closes his eyes and makes this very wolf-like thrum in his chest. His hands are careful on Stiles's neck as he presses their bodies together easily from knee to chest.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Derek looks a mixture of exasperated and murderous when Stiles holds up the pillow. 

"No. No Batman _anything_ , Stiles. I'm not an eight-year-old boy." Derek growls, rolling his eyes and trailing a hand along the fabric of a red and gold towel. 

Stiles pouts and puts the batman pillow back with the other comic book pillows. Derek has one towel exactly, which doesn't work out for two people showering. Stiles dragged him, shivering and damp, straight to Bed, Bath & Beyond. 

"You're Batman, though," Stiles points out. "Dude, you're totally Batman. You've got the scowl down pat, and the growly voice, like, do you practice that shit in the mirror or what?" 

Derek glares at him as he moves to touch another towel. This one is royal blue with black stripes. Stiles is learning new things about Derek's aesthetic taste; it's slightly more sophisticated than Stiles's own taste. This is probably a thing he should have realized sooner, what with Derek's car, and his loft, and his everything.

Stiles moves away from the Marvel- and DC-themed things and toward the (boring) solid color choices Derek's focusing on. That are also towels, not pillows, which Stiles grudgingly admits is the reason they came. 

The fabric of the towel is apparently of the utmost importance to Derek because he touches each and every one he shows interest in, rubbing it between his fingers and along his palm with a thoughtful frown. Towel buying represents a crucial decision for Derek. 

It hits Stiles then, when he's about to make a joke about needing a matchmaker for the towels too. 

"You talked to her before I started comforting you," he says suddenly. Derek looks up from intently manhandling a fuzzy maroon towel and blinks at him. 

"... What?" 

"The matchmaker. You said you didn't want to hold me back, but you talked to her about setting you up before we started the whole comforting thing," Stiles says, working the pieces in his head. "Which... doesn't make sense..." 

Derek's eyes flicker with understanding and he sets the towel down. He takes a step closer to Stiles, moving the space between them from friends to intimate. 

"Stiles, you remember the first time we slept together?" he asks, voice low and soft. A shudder of want runs through Stiles and he suddenly wishes they were somewhere more private. "I knotted you." 

Stiles feels even more confused by this train of thought. "You always knot me, though. Well, unless we're really tired or in a rush or something." 

"Knotting is very instinctual. Werewolves can only knot with someone they trust and care for, deeply," Derek explains, his eyes darting between Stiles's to check he understands. "I didn't mean to that time; it just happened. I couldn't control it," he adds after a moment of Stiles staring at him, his brain sputtering to a stop.  

"You... so you... before I even..." 

"Yes." Derek nods, like this is so obvious that he actually judges Stiles for not realizing it. 

"Oh..." Stiles grins, really grins, almost delirious with happiness. " _You_ had a crush on _me_? Little old _me_? All that time? You for serious right now?" 

Derek presses his lips quickly and softly to Stiles's and pats his hip. He picks up a royal blue towel Stiles saw him rub against his cheek earlier, nods to himself, and picks up another one.  

"Come on. I think I need to look at duvet covers and sheets too. We keep making a mess all over the black ones I have. I'm thinking something in... white."

Stiles snorts and turns to follow Derek, catching up with him to slip his fingers into Derek's waiting hand. 


End file.
